At some point, you have to feel bad for Rocco Mediate, though,
who took Nike’s meal ticket to the mat over 91 holes.

My roommate rooted the underdog all the way during the U.S Open,
and I couldn’t blame him. Every aspect of Tiger’s shots earned
constant recap, while Rocco’s approach shots were greeted with
fade-outs.

No journalists were able to secure interviews with Tiger’s knee
cartilage, thankfully.

Had they, my Saturday night sushi partner would’ve paid even
less attention to whatever I blithered about over sake, as magical
putts snaked magnetically toward the cup on the Hi-Def screen
overhead.

Forget about the Military Commissions Act. Woods’ patella
threatens to imprison us all.

Poor Rocco and his efforts — not to mention his own comeback
from ruptured disks and back surgery, even — couldn’t outshine the
Tiger Grimace Meter that some network technician hastily assembled
for the telecast.

Which makes me ask: Exactly when are we supposed to get tired of
hearing about a player’s injury?

To adopt the athletic philosophy, aren’t we supposed to focus on
the competition itself at some point?

Granted, last weekend was Woods’ first time on the grass
post-op. And I know I just wrote about a prep athlete undergoing
shoulder surgery.

But eventually, it’s got to come down to the game.

The Kenzie Fowler story is a great example.

No matter what achievement or context, you can’t write a story
about the Softball Siren now without breaking thoracic outlet
syndrome down to layman’s terms, or chronicling her life-saving
surgery.

Like Journey without Steve Perry, something’s missing from the
mix.

Those medical hurdles, once hurdled, get cemented into the
legend.

There’s no getting around the fact. Take Jim Abbott for
example.

A state champ quarterback during his prep years, Abbott threw
nearly 1,000 strikeouts over a 10-year career with four
major-league teams.

Still, most bar conversations tend to enshrine him as “that one
pitcher, born without a right hand.”

Right on time, our page designer, — encyclopedic on the NBA, yet
short on MLB lore — just wondered aloud whether Abbott threw with
his mouth.

And though Robert Redford’s triumphantly blood-stained uniform
made a lasting impression in The Natural, you never got any
comments from the opposing pitcher.

That’s just how it goes. You’ve got to love a comeback kid.

Perhaps when Hollywood cuts The Tim Donaghy Story, they’ll play
up his ability to overcome criminally bad eyesight.

Still, part of me wonders whether Woods and Fowler — now
appearing in the same sentence — would rather reporters just focus
on the game at hand, at this point?

I’m sure their competitors, like Mediate, surmise as much.

Because it feels misdemeanor to let his weekend’s performance
sink into the swamps of Tiger bait.